


Desperate Overture

by Jade_Rhose



Series: Dissonant Melody [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Hogwarts AU, F/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Time Magic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3313406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Rhose/pseuds/Jade_Rhose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort comes to the Battle of Hogwarts a little more prepared and takes the castle. Harry and Hermione barely escape the wreckage and flee as they search for a way to end the war--or make sure it never even begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is owned by J.K. Rowling. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and I do not make any profit from it, other than the reader's enjoyment.
> 
> I apologize in advance for my incorrect tenses--I like writing in present tense, but it isn't always consistent.

She's close to breaking.

“No, no, using marcomannic runes here will significantly decrease the efficacy…”

It isn’t the grueling, sixteen hour days of studying dead languages by candlelight from musty old tomes, stolen from the castle just hours before its fall.

“… of this string of the spell, we should be using…”

It isn’t the packing up in seconds at the drop of a hat every six hours as their location becomes less secure.

“…a tri-dimensional configuration of the Elder Futhark…”

It isn’t the fact that neither of them had slept, fully, in almost six months.

“…runes sowilo and raidō to promote the travel from here to then…”

It isn’t even the fact that their food has slowly dwindled to what they could scavenge from the surrounding woods.

“…but, we could also change this entire design, to create a more stable pathway…”

It's the small, nagging voice that sounded awfully like her mother at the back of her mind that whispers to her in the times of quiet, the spaces between worrying about food, studying, running for her life, and sleeping that got to her. _You’ll never be quick enough,_ it said to her, _you know you’ll never both make it out of here._

She’s learnt to ignore that voice, to bury it so deeply in her subconscious that she can’t hear that insidious whisper, yet every time she looks at the runic display, written out on dozens of loose bits of parchment, arranged in a circle on the floor of their tent, she can’t hide from the truth.

Harry looks over at her in concern as she trails off, staring almost vacantly at the circle. His hair is just as messy and unkempt as ever, she thinks, as she turns to him, her mind still a million miles away. It hangs limply over his head, and he could do with a cut—she smiles, thinking about her own insatiable pile of hair, pulled tightly away from her face.

As he opens his mouth to comment, she shakes her head and returns to the heavy book in her lap, notes spilling from its pages. She doesn’t want to talk about it, not about anything. Her eyes catch on something in the page before her, and she opens her mouth to think aloud, as a loud gong echoes around the darkened tent.

In well practiced movements, both she and Harry stand, pulling out their wands. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of her face as they venture out into the dark woods. It’s only been seven hours since the last time the Snatchers had found their camp, and she thinks they are running out of time. She pulls down the tent in seconds and packs it away, as Harry waves his wand, a concussion of noise snapping from the tip.

They turn to each other as one, and disapparate.

* * *

They are starting to run out of places to hide, Harry thinks, as he watches Hermione pull their tent out of her bag. He is setting up wards—proximity alerts, repelling wards, defensive jinxes. He has done this so many times now, he barely has to think about it and the spells are flying from his wand.

They’ve camped in every major and minor forest, thicket, or copse of trees within the UK. Yet, wherever they go, the Snatchers, or, if they are really unlucky, the Death Eaters, seem to be only a few hours behind them. And that number was dwindling fast.

Hermione has already set the tent up and is sitting on the floor again, chalk in her hand. She barely looks up when Harry enters the tent, securing the flap behind him, and he sits at the small table.

When she only sits there and stares at the ground, however, Harry knows that something is different, this time. Something is… off.

“Hermione,” he starts in a murmur, but doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t turn to him, but he can tell she is listening.

When the silence lengthens, Hermione finally turns to him, eyes gleaming in the candle light. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, the chalk dropping from her hand.

What is there to talk about, he thinks to himself. They don’t talk anymore, not since the massacre at Hogwarts. When they talk— _if_ they talk—it’s about their research. It’s about what books they need to try to find, it’s about formulas and runic conversions and rituals. It’s about where to go next, it’s about what to try next. It’s about coming closer and closer to their destination.

It’s always about the future, and never about the past. Even though their future will only ever be the past, now. Harry just smiles, a little sardonically, and shrugs.

“I think…” she starts, her eyes down cast. “I think we're ready.”

The air congeals like molasses in his lungs before it melts. The air explodes from his lungs in a heavy sigh. One of profound relief. He doesn’t even ask if she’s sure, because he knows her too well.

“When can we get started?” He asks instead, putting down the book in his lap. He certainly never thought that he would become so studious when they had first run out of Number 12, half the library stuffed in Hermione's beaded bag. Then again, there isn't a whole lot to do, as they searched for a means to end the war.

Because they certainly weren't going to win it. After the Battle of Hogwarts, as it has become commonly known, Harry and Hermione have been on the run as they tried to figure out what to do next. After so many of their friends and family had died, died for them. After Ron...

Well, they just couldn't sit around and mope any more. They first thought they could take on Voldemort, could topple his empire in a series of guerrilla attacks, like he had done as he rose to power. But they were only two people, and no matter how smart or powerful the two of them were, it was impossible to take on an entire army.

That isn't to say they didn't try. They only realized that it was a fool's errand when their last raid turned out to be an ambush and they barely survived by the skin of their teeth, they realized that they couldn't continue like they had been.

That's when they began searching for alternate means of ending the war. Harry refused to run to the mainland, like many of the muggleborns had done after the slaughter at Hogwarts, but he also couldn't fight a losing battle. So they looked into other areas of magic.

Hermione had always been interested in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, ever since her third year. It was only natural that she would study the runic properties of time travel during that year in her spare time, so she could understand how her Time Turner worked. So in the last seven months, she has been developing a runic ritual that would send them back in time, to that first day they had encountered time magic together, on the day they helped Sirus escape in their third year.

But even though Hermione had more or less created the ritual from scratch, by herself, Harry has been following the process closely. He wasn't anywhere near as smart or clever has her, but he was resourceful and intuitive, so he piecemealed his education together and taught himself runes and arithmancy as she worked it through.

"Now. Whenever you are ready," she says in a whisper.

"Then let's get with it," he smiles, though it is hollow. Because he has studied runes diligently for the last six months. And he knows that despite her conviction that it was going to work, he knows that it won't work. At least, it won't work the way Hermione told him it would.

She had been implying that ritual would take them both back. But she knows better, she knows that the only way for them to go so far back in time, is if someone stays behind to power the ritual.

But because he loves her, he is willing to let her pretend they were going to be fine just a little bit longer.

* * *

"Is that it?" Harry asks three days later as they finish setting up the tent from their quick move. The snatchers have caught up with them every four hours, give or take, since they started inking the runes on the wooden floor of their tent.

"It is," Hermione murmurs, staring at the ground in an absent fashion. She finishes her inspection and meets his eyes for the first time in what feels like weeks. A torn look falls across her face, "Harry, I...-"

Harry shakes his head with a brittle smile. "I know, Hermione. I've always known. This isn't a trip both of us can make."

For a moment, she looks startled, before a tired smile drips from her lips. "I should have known you'd realize it."

Harry doesn't say anything, so enthralled by the smile on her face that he can't formulate any kind of response. He shakes his head with a smile, and gestures. "You'll just have to convince younger me to get his head out of his arse sooner."

Again, the startled look passes across her face, until she is just looking confused. "What are you talking about? I'll be powering the ritual for you to go back," she says like it is the obvious conclusion.

"Hermione..." he starts, but stops. Logic will be the only way to win this argument, but he can feel his eyes slide to the clock hanging on the flap. Their time is ticking away, he can feel it slipping away from him. "You did the conversions. You know how much magic it is going to take to send someone back. It's... more than you have," he says gently.

Her eyes fill as she is confronted with the truth she has been hiding from. "Well, we can just recalculate, send you less far back..." she trails off as he shakes his head.

"You know those numbers better than me. And you know that the only time I could ever be sent back would be that night. That would be my only anchor of time magic and you just don't have enough to send me that far. It will _have_ to be you."

Hermione crumples, and Harry pulls her into his arms. He wishes they could stay like this forever, just the two of them, but he knows it's impossible for them. So he'll just hold her while he can, and try to burn these memories into his mind.

"I'm OK," she finally says, pulling away, and wiping at her eyes with a broken smile. "Let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

 "Are you ready?" Harry asks, sitting cross legged at the very edge of the chalked diagram before him.

"I think so," Hermione says in a small voice, standing in the center pentagram, the only bit of floor not covered in layers and layers of ink.

"Alright," Harry says with a nod, and tries to convey with his eyes just how much he loves her. He takes out his wand and places it on the ink on his right, his left hand hovering right above the edge of the runic circle. "I love you," he says simply as he lowers his fingers.

Everything explodes in a brilliant purple light, his eyes clenching tight. The light fades just enough for him to open his eyes, looking at Hermione at the center of the supernova. The runes move throughout the air in geometric, three dimensional patterns, having come to life under his fingertips.

Sweat is already pouring from his brow as his arms shake with the amount of magic he is pouring into the ritual. He begins to chant under his breath, making eye contact with Hermione. At the end of incantation, he smiles at her, as her form begins to fade from his sight and the runes brighten impossibly.

Before she is gone completely, a panicked look crosses her face and she reaches out for him. It's only then that he notices that the wards around the tent are under attack, screaming for them to notice, and that they are on the verge of collapse.

Despite the fact that he can barely keep his head up, he smiles at her reassuringly when a jolt runs through his spine and his eyes widen. Something tugs at his magic, and it isn't their ritual. Blue tendrils of smoke wrap around him and he has enough time to meet Hermione's terrified eyes as she disappears completely in a flash of pure amethyst light.

When the Death Eaters storm into the tent not ten seconds later, they are met with an empty room with char marks radiating from the center of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> This is merely the prologue for a much longer piece. I don't really want to give anything away, but the plan is for this to be a 5-part series, the middle three being 50-100K words in length, with an epilogue of sorts. Parts 2 and 3 will be posted at the same time, and have similar update schedules (though, this is entirely dependent on my motivation/which piece calls to me more. I have a more fleshed out outline for Part 2, so that one might get the most attention). Part 4 will be posted after 2 and 3 are done, then 5 will be posted when 4 is finished. 
> 
> Also, first chapters of both Part 2 and 3 will be posted within a week (by 2/15/15). After that, I have no set schedule.


End file.
